


A Scotsman's Secret

by roryheadmav



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Highlander - Freeform, Humor, M/M, PWP, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-10
Updated: 2001-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While attending the Gathering of the Clans in Seacouver, Methos is determined to find out the answer to that infamous question: What does a Scot have another his kilt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Scotsman's Secret

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written on the occasion of the first anniversary of HLM. Thank you very much, Chanie, for the picture that inspired this story!! Many thanks also to Mary, Camimac, Janet, Sheeza, Sarah St. Ives and Moirel for their wonderful feedback!!!

 

        "DUNCAN!" Methos cried in exasperation. His bellow rattled the windows of the Highlander's Fifth Floor loft. "We'll be late for the Gathering! Aren't you ready yet?"

        From inside the bathroom, his 400-year old lover declared, "Just give me a minute!"

        The ancient groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead. "You said that an hour ago."

        Suddenly, the door of the bathroom burst open and a mumbling and grumbling Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod strode outside, struggling with the brooch at his left shoulder.

        Despite the dark scowl on the young man's face, Methos was caught speechless by the lovely sight his fellow Immortal made. The Highlander was wearing a shirt of white silk, opened in a V revealing his broad chest and the sprinkling of sable curls. Duncan's MacLeod tartan was wrapped around his trim waist, a sporran hanging from the belt securing it. The tail of the kilt was draped over his left shoulder. On his feet, he wore calf-high black boots that only accentuated the Scot's long, graceful legs.

        Grinning, Methos stepped forward, going behind the younger man. Taking the brooch from a surprised Mac's hand, he pinned the tail for him. Before Duncan could utter a word of thanks, Methos wrapped his arms around the Highlander's waist.

        Bestowing a gentle kiss on a high cheekbone, he whispered, "What are you hiding under your kilt, MacLeod?", letting his palms slide down those slim hips.

        Duncan skittered away from the ancient's grasp, a bashful blush going up his cheeks. Tapping a finger on the tip of Methos' prominent facial protuberance, he replied playfully, "That's for me to know and for you to find out."

        "Hey, that's not fair!" Methos complained, an uncharacteristic pout on his lips. "You've gotten more than a glimpse of my ass already…"

        "And a mighty fair ass it is too!"

        "But I have yet to sample your melons!"

        "Excuse me! My ample derriere is not fruit!"

        "Oh, yes it is! Forbidden fruit! I feel like Adam in the Garden of Eden -- longing for that luscious apple."

        "Methos, you always cup my buttocks whenever we make love. You knead them like dough."

        "But that's the only thing I ever do!"

        Silence fell between the two men. Then, Duncan put in softly, "It's that…other…thing you want."

        The ancient brushed his right foot uncomfortably on the floor. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

        "You know this is a very difficult step for me to make," the Scot's voice was barely a whisper. "I…I haven't done this before. I…Methos…I'm afraid."

        Those two words again. Two simple words hanging between them. A seemingly impassable obstacle to nirvana.

        Inwardly, the Old Man groaned, _Why, oh, why did I ever fall in love with a Scottish virgin!_

        Duncan noticed the forlorn expression on the ancient's face. Perhaps he was being selfish. Since they decided to live together five months ago, Methos was always willing to let the Highlander take the dominant role in their relationship. Perhaps now was the time for change. If only he could get over his fear of being the submissive one for once.

        The Scot crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his head, as if in deep thought. He then said, "I'll tell you what, Methos. Let's play a little game. If you win, you could get to…" Duncan grimaced, unable to say the "F"-word. "To…you lnow…sample my melons."

        Methos' ears perked up at that suggestion. "But what's going to happen if I lose?"

        "You'll do anything I want. No questions asked," answered the Highlander. "Are you interested?"

        The Old Man's reply was quick. "Of course I am! Your prudish Scottish buns and my being able to put sweet filling inside are prizes worth winning!"

        "Should you be so vulgar, Methos?"

        "What's the game?" asked the ancient, brows wagging up and down, as he ignored the younger man's comment.

        Duncan shrugged, giving his lover an enigmatic little smile. "To find the answer to the greatest secret among the Highlanders. What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?"

        "That's easy. The answer is nothing. Scots believe that it's unmanly for them to wear undergarments or trousers of any kind. This is a belief that persisted from the time of the Celts."

        "That is true for the other Highlanders." The Highlander grinned wickedly. "But is it true for this young Scot standing before you now?"

        As Methos gaped at his lover with jaw slack, Duncan twirled on his toe, sending his kilt flying up to mid-thigh, but depriving the ancient of a much higher view. Before he could pose another question himself, the Scot flounced into the lift. His left hand gripped the gate above his head, while his right slowly pulled up his kilt to reveal a golden thigh.

        "Aren't you coming?" the young man winked teasingly.

        It was a clear challenge Methos definitely will not back out from. "I'm right behind you, Honey Buns! I'm right behind you!"

 

        The Gathering of the Clans was held in a small park in the outskirts of Seacouver, near the edge of a forest. Aside from the usual Highland games, there was a fair with amusement rides for kids who prefer more normal fare. But Methos was not interested in any of these.

        Hours into the Gathering saw the Old Man close to admitting defeat. There was a dark scowl on his face as he watched his dashing lover dancing the Highland fling with a buxom lass, his green gold eyes still focused on that treacherous kilt that fluttered up and down as Duncan moved.

        Methos was not getting anywhere with his quest to discover what Duncan was wearing under his kilt. He was still certain that the Scot had absolutely nothing on, given how Duncan would shimmy out of the grasp of amorous females, and occasional males, whose fingers were eager to crawl under that length of plaid to find out. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he glared at that blasted kilt. To him, that blue and green tartan was like a matador's cape -- daring and mocking.

        With a snort, Methos grumbled ominously, "Once we get home, I'm going to tear that damned kilt to shreds!"

        "There, there now, Laddie!" a good-natured voice chortled, startling the ancient out of his thoughts. "No Scotsman would want to get caught with his kilt down!"

        Methos looked up and smiled at the distinguished old Highlander standing behind him. "Don't you mean 'get caught with your pants down'?"

        The Scot grinned as well, sitting down on the bench beside the ancient, his joints and the cane in his hand creaking, "Aye! But both function well in protecting a man's honor."

        "All too well." The ancient's head cocked to the side instinctively as his lover's kilt flew up once more as he leaped high. "You can't see anything under there!"

        The Scot pursed his lips in the direction of MacLeod. "If you mean that bonny lad, you definitely have a problem. Handsome fellow knows how to wear a kilt and wear it well. If you mean to find out what he's got under that tartan, you won't succeed."

        "It seems to me you've been watching me, Mister…"

        "James Mackenzie's my name. And why shouldn't I be watching you? You've been straining your neck and stretching your fingers past their normal reach to try to get under that fine kilt." Mackenzie gave the ancient a mischievous wink. "I take it that, as the youngsters say nowadays, you've got the hots for that dashing Highlander."

        Methos offered a hand to the old Scotsman. "Adam Pierson." As they shook hands, he remarked, "You are very astute, Mr. Mackenzie. I hope I have not…well…"

        "Offended me? Perhaps if I were younger. But for this time? I suppose it's all right to see two men living together…and some women too. Besides, it's obvious to me that you two care about each other a great deal. You haven't noticed it, but while you've been watching yonder Highlander, he has been keeping an eye on you as well. I think he wants you to find out what he's hiding."

        "I doubt that, Mr. Mackenzie," Methos answered with a sad shake of his head. "He's…afraid." There's that word again.

        "Still as chaste as a lily, is he?" Mackenzie laid a comforting hand on the Old Man's shoulder.

        "Maybe I've been pushing him too hard. This is the first time that he's had a relationship with another man. I should have been satisfied with what he's able to give. After all, he is a kind and considerate lover. But…but…I want more."

        "Meaning it's his delectable Scottish ass that has you all steamed up. I suspect there is a catch."

        The ancient nodded. "Yes, I have to find out what he's wearing under that kilt."

        "However, a kilt is a Scotsman's formidable armor, keeping his secret safe." A mischievous smile quirked up Mackenzie's lips. "Maybe I should give you a helping hand. Do you by any chance know Marilyn Monroe?"

        Methos was taken offguard by this query. "Not personally, but…I mean, who wouldn't know Marilyn Monroe!"

        Mackenzie beckoned for the Old Man to lean towards him. There was a frown on Methos' brow as he listened to the Scot's whispered plan. The more he listened, the more his face gradually brightened until his smile was as glorious as the sun.

        Methos clasped the old Highlander's hand in his grasp, shaking it eagerly. "Mr. Mackenzie, you're a man after my own heart!"

        "Very well!" declared Mackenzie. "I'll be expecting you two then. Tonight. After the Calling of the Clans."

        The ancient was suddenly seized by a moment of doubt. "Do you think it's really going to work?"

        Mackenzie smiled confidently. "Trust me, my boy. And trust in that darling lassie, Norma Jean."

 

        Methos was pacing back and forth before the portable latrine. Like a repeat of the incident early this morning, he called to his lover inside, "Duncan? Are you sure you're not suffering from urinary tract infection or indigestion from eating too much haggis? This is the fifth time you had to go to the john!"

        At that query, Duncan stepped outside the latrine, tucking his now bulging sporran close as he did so. "Immortals don't get infections or indigestion. You know that. Sometimes, love, you're just like a child. The fair rides are not going to just pack up and leave."

        "Not this ride," the ancient mumbled under his breath. Taking Duncan's hand, he tugged in urgency, "Come on, MacLeod!"

        "What's the hurry?" the Scot queried suspiciously. "Does this have something to do with our little bet?"

        With arms akimbo, Methos faced the younger man. "Frankly, my dear Duncan, I couldn't care less what you've got hiding under that kilt of yours."

        Duncan stared at his lover in stunned silence. This was the last thing he expected to hear. "I…I don't understand. Are you saying you're not…interested…anymore?"

        "For the whole day, I've seen all types of bare asses -- some firm, some flabby, some wrinkled. Could you blame me if I lose interest? You see one ass, you've seen 'em all. Besides, this way, at least, I would still have my imagination. I'm just sparing myself the disappointment if your ass should turn out wrinkled and flabby."

        The Highlander's handsome features darkened. "My ass is not wrinkled or flabby! You know that! Let's go home, Methos. I'm exhausted."

        Methos, however, grabbed his lover's wrist. "Oh, no we're not! You brought me to this Ass Hell. I'm not leaving until I've had a little fun of my own."

        Before Duncan could argue, the ancient pulled him along, making their way through the crowd, until they reached a long rectangular wooden structure at the very edge of the fairgrounds.

        Seeing what was written on the arch above their heads, the Scot grimaced. "The Tunnel of Love? How droll! And there's not even a single boat or cart to ride in. I'm going home!"

        The ancient wrapped his arm around his lover's waist before he could go and led him up the rickety steps. "Uh, uh! You're not going anywhere, Sweet Pea!"

        "Sweet Pea?" Duncan's brows rose to form two perfect arches.

        "I paid a large sum of money for exclusive use of this establishment and I intend to get my money's worth. Besides, we don't need a ride. You just walk through."

        "But why do I have to accompany you? Scared of mechanical monsters and fake ghosts?"

        Methos grinned wickedly. "It wouldn't be called the Tunnel of Love if I went inside alone. Come on, MacLeod! Just this once!"

        "After your remark earlier about my ass, I'm of the mind to leave you here." Grudgingly, Duncan agreed, "Oh, all right! Let's go!"

        "After you," the Old Man waved both hands to the door.

        But Duncan said, "No. After you."

        With a shrug, Methos entered the Tunnel of Love, with the Highlander following close behind him. Suddenly, Duncan found himself surrounded by darkness, unable to see where his lover was or which way to go.

        "MACLEOD!" Methos suddenly spoke with a blood-curdling moan.

        Duncan felt his goosebumps rise. "Shut up, Methos!" he growled at the older man.

        "Are you afraid, MacLeod?" the ancient said again in his best impression of Dracula.

        The Scot snatched his sporran and pounded it in the direction where he believed his lover was. What his sporran connected with was a luminous laughing ghoul's head. With a cry of surprise, Duncan broke into a run. As he made his way through the tunnel, bats whizzed past him as well as more heads with wisps of smoke exuding behind them. At one point, a mummy popped out of its sarcophagus and embraced him tightly. An ear-piercing shriek escaped the Highlander's lips as he broke free from its grasp and ran deeper into the tunnel. Duncan soon found himself inside the Hall of Mirrors. Desperate to get out of the maze, he did not notice his grotesque and funny reflections on the trick mirrors.

        "Aren't you afraid yet, MacLeod?" Methos' voice seemed to echo all around him. "BWA HA HA HA HA!"

        "Where the hell are you, you old fart!" Duncan demanded.

        Instead, the Old Man burst into more laughter. "Duncan, my dear Sweet Pea! You've got a big butt after all!"

        The Highlander whirled around to find himself facing a trick mirror. Steam passed out of his ears, seeing the way the mirror enlarged his hips. Worse, as he turned around and craned his neck back to peek at the mirror once more, he saw that, indeed, his ass had become enormous.

        Again, Methos cackled in glee, "FAT BUTT! FAT BUTT!"

        "MY BUTT IS NOT FAT!" roared the Scot. "WAIT TILL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!"

        Duncan groped his way through the Hall of Mirrors until he found the exit. The Highlander found himself inside a simple room made of wood, the walls painted to look like brick. Unknown to him, there were slats in the floor beneath him.

        "I don't think this is funny anymore, Methos!" called the Scot furiously.

        "It isn't?" the ancient answered over the speaker. Methos was actually hiding in a small cubbyhole behind the wall. "I think it's hilarious, my fat-bottomed Highlander!"

        "And I told you -- MY BUTT IS NOT FAT!"

        "Let me be the judge of that!"

        Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew from the slats. Before Duncan could do anything, like Marilyn Monroe decades back, his kilt flew up, baring everything from the waist down. Still concealed, Methos felt his eyes bug out of his sockets at the sight of the Highlander's very impressive manly endowments. As Duncan struggled to yank his kilt down, he turned around, revealing at last to the ancient THE perfect pair of golden buttocks and the enticing cleft between them

        However, unable to regain his modesty, to Methos' shock, a flushed and humiliated Duncan fell to his haunches, back turned to the wall where the older man was hiding behind, and burst into quiet sobs, the wind blowing through his clothes and his silky brown tresses.

        As he emerged from his hiding place and approached the distraught Scot, Methos' eyes focused upon the fallen sporran, and the pair of boxer shorts that had popped out.

        "I was going to surprise you tonight," Duncan's soft weeping reached the Old Man's hearing. "I didn't want you to discover the secret until we returned home. But…but I couldn't let anyone -- man or woman -- manhandle me while we're still here. MY secret…I will only share it with you and you alone. I've had lovers before, but you're the only person I am willing to do…it…with."

        Methos was at a loss for words. Instead, he settled for a sincere, "I'm sorry."

        "I want to do it, Methos. Truly I do. But I'm afraid. Afraid that it would hurt. Afraid that I may not be able to please you this way. Afraid that you would lose interest and leave me…after this."

        Strong arms embraced the Highlander lovingly. Duncan felt his breath catch in his throat at what the ancient said next.

        "Duncan," Methos began, "after all the things we went through together, I'd be a fool to leave you. Mac, it's not about sex, this thing we have between us. I want to love you -- heart, soul and, yes, body. You're a wonderful lover, but I want you to know how you make me feel -- that sense of completeness and fulfillment. Of being loved and cherished. I could show you that and so much more. I can't do it, however, if you won't let go of your fear."

        Methos made his lover face him. As he peered into Duncan's tear-filled doe eyes, he wiped the wetness away from the younger man's cheeks. "I can't promise that it won't hurt. This is your first time after all."

        "I know it won't hurt," the Scot said firmly. Swallowing hard, he added, "I trust you."

        "But you're still not sure. I won't press this. Duncan, you're not ready."

        "I'll never know unless I try. Please, Methos? More than trust, I love you! My love for you will see me through this."

        Methos gazed into his lover's eyes and saw the sincerity and determination in them. He gave the younger man a reassuring kiss and stood up, causing the Scot to look at him quizzically.

        "I'll just turn off the wind machine," the ancient said.

        It was Duncan's turn to take his hand. "Don't. I like it. I feel like I'm flying in here."

        Just one nod from the Old Man and the two lovers fell into each other's arms, passionate kisses stealing their breath away. As they eagerly engaged in the oral plundering of each other's moist depths, each man removed the clothing of the other. Duncan peeled off Methos' sweater. As he slid down the older man's body, bestowing butterfly kisses upon that pale, smooth skin, the Scot raised his arms so that Methos could pull off his shirt. With great impatience, Duncan lowered the ancient's jeans and yanked them from his slim ankles, along with his boots. Like a ravenous wolf, he scarfed down Methos' cock down to the root, licking the length with his tongue and squeezing it with his throat muscles. Everything was happening too fast for the Old Man. With a strangled cry, he spilled his seed into the Highlander's throat, who hungrily lapped up the come.

        Panting for breath, Methos somehow managed to laugh. "And I thought I was supposed to be in control."

        Duncan took the ancient's hands and placed them over his firm buttocks, still shrouded by his kilt. "It's your turn now, Old Man. Do you want me to take off my kilt?"

        Methos, however, shook his head. Instead, he eased the Scot against the wall where the wind was strongest, causing the younger man's tartan to flutter around them.

        The ancient grinned, seeing his lover's cock flapping in the wind. "Now, that's what I call an instant hard-on."

        Duncan ground his burgeoning erection against the Old Man's groin. "I don't need a wind machine to get it to stand at attention."

        "So, I see, but…" The ancient turned his lover around to  face the wall, the wind raising the plaid that those golden mounds were revealed to him. "I have a craving for honey buns."

        Duncan waited with bated breath as Methos fell to his knees, hands squeezing and kneading those firm buttocks. At one point, he burst into giggles, feeling the older man blowing puffs of air inside the crevice of his ass. But nothing could have prepared him for the slick, tiny finger that suddenly entered him. Gasping, his rosebud instinctively tightened. Again, however, there were those light puffs, distracting him from the invader.

        "It's all right, love," Methos whispered soothingly. "Just breathe easy and relax. I'm preparing you for me and Heaven."

        Nodding, the Highlander obeyed his lover, breathing slow and steady. Still, he whimpered, pressing his cheek against the wall, as the first finger was joined by a second finger and a third. To his relief, probably sensing his growing fear and distress, the ancient withdrew his hand. However, the hand was immediately replaced by a probing tongue, a lingual serpent licking his rosebud and poking inside. The feel of that fiendish tongue in his most private part caused him to lapse into giggles once more.

        "Methos, stop it!" Duncan cried, wiggling his butt, trying to escape that exploring tongue. "That tickles!"

        Suddenly, something large pushed inside his ass. Duncan screamed in pain, tears trickling from his eyes. Lips showered kisses upon his cheeks, strong arms hugging him.

        "Do you want me to stop, love?" Methos' voice was hoarse with the strain of controlling his desires.

        Duncan bit into his right arm, shaking his head.

        "Duncan, are you sure?"

        "Yes," the Highlander answered, his own voice barely a squeak. "I trust you, Methos. I love you!"

        Methos kissed the Scot as he pulled out of him for a moment, making the younger man face him. With a strength he never knew he had, he lifted Duncan so that his lover was half-sitting, half-straddling his lap.

        "Look into my eyes, Duncan. When there's pain, breathe deeply. It will help you relax." The ancient demonstrated for him, to which the Highlander obediently followed. "Are you ready to try again?"

        Still breathing, Duncan nodded, gazing at a roach crawling on the wall. The Old Man, however, bade him to look into his face once more.

        "Don't look at anything else, Duncan," Methos said firmly. "Only my eyes." Seeing the Scot apparently ready, he declared, "Let's do it then."

        Again, that pressure on his opening, followed by blinding pain. Although the pain and fear were threatening to overwhelm him, Duncan continued taking deep breaths. Sure enough, he could feel his channel relaxing around the ancient's cock. But it was Methos' eyes that made his breath catch in his throat.

        The Highlander never expected to see fear in those green gold orbs, but sure enough, it was there, as evinced by his fully dilated pupils. There was determination as well not to cause his young lover pain. That control…it was hurting him just as badly.

        Taking a deep breath, Duncan eased himself down on Methos' cock, sheathing the older man fully inside him. Despite the sudden move, to his surprise, there was no pain. None at all.

        It was Methos, this time, who let out a surprised gasp. "Mac, what do you think you're doing?"

        Duncan embraced his lover in relief, weeping in joy. "No pain, Methos. There's no pain."

        The ancient kissed the younger man's lips tenderly. "I'm glad, love. I'm so glad."

        At these words, the two lovers began to move in unison, surrendering to the undulations of desire. With the blue and green tartan fluttering, beating against their joined bodies, they danced the tango of passion, letting the wind carry them to the crest. With cries of ecstasy, the two men came in a shower of twinkling, multi-colored lights. As the wind abated, so too did their passions gradually ebb. With the kilt draped over their naked bodies, they settled to the floor, arms wrapped around each other.

        "Thank you, Duncan," Methos whispered happily. "Thank you so much!"

        Smiling, Duncan snuggled up to the ancient, laying his head on Methos' chest. Kissing the flushed skin, he giggled, "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

 

        The two Immortals emerged from the Tunnel of Love an hour and a half later. James Mackenzie was waiting for them outside.

        Noting the glow on the lovers' cheeks, Mackenzie remarked grinning, "I take it things went very well."

        Methos hugged Duncan to him. "More than you know, Mr. Mackenzie. More than you know."

        "I take it you discovered the Scotsman's greatest secret."

        The ancient nodded. "Yes. And it's a secret I do not intend to share with anyone else." He shook Mackenzie's hand. "Thank you, sir."

        "The pleasure is all mine." Mackenzie waved a hand to his modest fairground establishment. "After all, I am the proprietor of the Tunnel of Love. Slainte, gentlemen."

        "And to you too, Mr. Mackenzie."

        Hand in hand, the two lovers started to walk away. Being a few steps ahead of the younger man, Methos did not notice Duncan glancing back at the Scotsman.

        The Highlander smiled and mouthed two words. "Thank you."

        To this, Mackenzie winked conspiratorially and mouthed back, "You're welcome, Duncan MacLeod."


End file.
